Being a Big Brother
by PoppyJ
Summary: One of many times Dean has been the best big brother he could be. One-shot. Hurt -ish Sam, pissed Dean. Pre-Series.


**Helow, **

**Glad to be back in the glorious world of (pre-series, of course ;)) Supernatural – thought I'd take a break for my exams, then that break kinda extended... but I'm back!**

**Warnings: none. **

**Disclaimer: own zilch, nada, nothing. Not mine at all. **

**You can decide what age they are, anything pre-series (let me know what you thought they were, I have an idea in my head and I want to compare!).**

**oOoOoOoOoOoOo**

The first day, Dean noticed Sam's hat had gone.

The kid had come waddling into the motel room, his hair soaked from the freezing mixture of thick snow and ice-cold rain, the ordinary, hand-me-down blue beanie nowhere in sight.

Dean watched as his brother hunched his shoulders as he slid silently past towards the bathroom, both confused and concerned. "Sam?" he called.

"Yeah?" Sam replied quietly, still staring down at his trainers.

"Where's your hat?"

"Huh?"

Dean narrowed his eyes. "Your hat, Sam. Where is it?"

The kid glanced up, his gaze not quite meeting Dean's. "Musta left it at school." He hurried into the bathroom.

Dean shook his head. "Damn kid," he mumbled, turning back to his homework.

oOoOoOoOoOo

The second day, Sam's scarf had disappeared.

The kid had come trudging heavily into the motel room, his neck and chin buried into his coat, keeping his head low and his gaze lower.

Dean gripped the hilt of the knife he was holding hard, trying to contain his temper. "Sam," he said through gritted teeth.

"Yeah," Sam sighed, still walking to the bathroom, still not looking at his brother.

"You leave your scarf at school too?"

"No."

Silence. "Then where the hell is it?"

"I lost it."

"You lost it," Dean repeated skeptically, glaring at his brother's back, "How the fuck did you lose a scarf?"

Sam visibly flinched. "I dropped it."

Dean threw the knife on the table, and stood, his chair squeaking across the floor. "Sammy," he began, but barely opened his mouth before the kid scuttled into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.

oOoOoOoOoOo

On the third day, Dean figured it out.

Sam came tiptoeing into the motel room, now minus his hat, scarf, and gloves.

And plus a blossoming bruise on his jaw and a deep, bleeding cut on his lip.

Dean had risen quickly to his feet, his fists already clenched at his sides. "Sam," was all he could say, his mind clouding with anger as his little brother, his only responsibility, stood in front of him with his head bowed and awkwardly shuffling his feet, sniveling all the while.

"I'm sorry," was all Sam said.

Dean pursed his lips as he quickly walked over to him, pulling him into a tight hug. He gently ran a thumb across the black mark on Sam's face, an explanation quickly forming in his mind. "They were taking your stuff," he stated. He felt Sam nod, head still buried in his big brother's chest.

"They said they'd hurt me if I told…"

Dean nodded, rubbing Sam's quivering back as rage ran through his veins.

"It's gonna be okay, Sammy. I promise."

oOoOoOoOoOo

Dean barely took a breath as he rounded the corner of the alleyway, knowing exactly which part of Sam's route home these kids would hang around on.

They were a year or two younger than Dean. Too old to be picking on a boy Sam's age. Too cowardly to take on a kid their own size. Dean would be teaching them a valuable lesson. As Dean approached, he counted three.

Three against one.

Well, three against a half if you took into consideration Sam's size.

"S'up man," one called as Dean approached, maybe mistaking him for a friend, or maybe just being a cocky little shit.

Dean was on him in a second. He threw a hard punch, knocking the kid off his balance and sending him spinning into a wall. Quickly, Dean pounced again, grabbing him by the shirt collar and banging him twice into the wall. "I'll tell you what's up, _man,_" he spat, glancing warningly at the other two, "next time you want a hat, or a scarf, or even a fucking pair of gloves, you buy them, or you win them, or you steal them from a store, not some harmless little kid whilst he walks home from school. Punk ass little shit," he hissed, dropping him heavily to the ground.

He looked again at the other two bullies, who had backed off a good few meters, their eyes wild and hands raised. "You fucking touch my brother again and I will kill you. You hear me?" He leaned into the fallen boy, who sat dazed on the iced concrete. He swiped the hat from his head, and quickly untied the scarf from his neck. He found the gloves balled up in his coat pocket.

As he stood straight, Dean looked once again at the three boys as he stuffed Sam's stolen clothes into his jacket. "If I hear any of you are messing with a kid again, I'll peel the skin from your bodies and dry it in the fucking sun."

And he turned, vanishing into the falling snow.

oOoOoOoOoOo

On the fourth day, Sam returned still wearing his hat, scarf and gloves, still sporting his battle scars, and carrying something brand new.

"What's that you got, Sam?"

Sam tried to hide a grin as he walked up to the table Dean sat on. "A kid came up to me today and told me to give you this, for any damages he may have caused," he explained, opening his palm to reveal a crumpled roll of five dollar bills. "He asked me to call a truce too."

Dean nodded, smirking to himself as he watched Sam try to contain his own smile. "Good. You go on and keep that cash, Sammy. S'all yours."

"We'll split," he replied, his eyes saying all that needed to be said. _Thanks, Dean. _

"Sounds good," Dean grinned back. _Anytime, Squirt. _

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**Hoping this was an acceptable warm up for the fics I hope to write this summer. **

**Reviews are cherished:) **

**LOVE YOU! **


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